


Therapy

by Chimie_Chat



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Bart as Kid Flash, Bart has ADHD, Learning Disabilities, Post-Season/Series 02, School
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-13 04:29:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11177052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chimie_Chat/pseuds/Chimie_Chat
Summary: Common symptoms of being a speedster include being able to run across the country in four hours, eating your weight in street vendor hot dogs, and not being able to sit still for too long. But for Bart, fidgeting, zoning out, and usual hyperactivity are a bit out of control, resulting in a little diagnosis that holds a lot of explanations; ADHD. Luckily enough for him, he has a good friend who does judge mental issues.In which Bart had ADHD and Jaime hangs out with him all the time.





	1. School Sucks

He rubbed the skin of his left hand forefinger and middle finger together. The friction of the action normally would have hurt, but calluses had long since formed. His legs bounced up and down at different paces, an action born out of the same desire to fidget. Unfortunately, he had to dial it down. Moving at his top speed, a speed that would actually relax him rather than build up more tension, was a big no-no in his current setting.

With nowhere else to really go after coming from the future, Bart Allen ended up taking residence with his current-day grandparents, Barry and Iris. Were the two of them happy to suddenly have a teenaged grandson sprung on them out of the blue? Hard to say. While they did welcome the time traveler into their home, it couldn’t have been easy on the couple considering they were now expecting Bart’s father-and-aunt-to-be. But Bart had taken the spare room they offered to him happily, putting himself primarily under Barry’s guardianship. At first, the young speedster thought this meant he would get to spend all day every day just running around and training under the Flash, his grandfather’s “supersona”, if you would. Unfortunately, thing’s had the habit of not exactly working out as planned. 

Bart had come to the past in February, and at the time he was involved with the Reach incident until late June. It was done and over with by the time “summer vacation” rolled around, a concept that was completely foreign to the time he wa from. When September rolled around, got pushed into the whirlwind realization that he had to start going to school.

That brings him to his current issue. The thirteen year old was crammed into a desk that felt way too small, in a classroom with twenty-some other kids his age, at Central City Junior High. It was only the third day of the school year, and he was already counting down to the last day of the semester. How could anyone possibly expect him to sit still for a whole 6.59 hours every day? Well, besides the five minutes to switch between classes, a forty-five minute lunch, and one class period of gym. Still, it was just so long. 

He looked down at the handout his history teacher passed around at the beginning of third period. Bart considered himself a bit of a history buff where he came from. But he came from 2056. His “history” was this time’s current events. While they hadn’t actually gotten started on any material yet, being the third day of class and all, this teacher just loved handing out review packets of stuff that everyone apparently should have learned in the previous year. Bart could tell you one thing at least, he most certainly did not learn anything about the War of 1812 last year. Since he couldn’t answer a single question on the packet, he wrote a quick note on the back of his hand to read about it later before starting to doodle in the margins of the paper. He mostly just drew out the insignias of different heros. Among the many different sized lightning bolts were various bats, S’s, and lanterns, as well as his own personal, and apparently abstract, take on Nightwing’s blue bird thing. He was halfway through an attempt at drawing Wonder Woman’s symbol - drawing two W’s seriously should not be this hard - when a shadow appeared over top of his desk.

“Ahem.” Bart looked up to see his teacher looming over him. The old man looked at the lack of answers on the boy’s paper, and his amazing artistry skills. “Not even going to make an attempt?”

“Uh… We didn’t learn about this in my old school?” It wasn’t exactly a lie. 

“Ah yes. You are a new student, aren’t you?” The man seemed to take a minute to think. “Alright then, write something down about an event that you learned about in your old school.”

Bart scratched the back of his head. The year was 2016 right? What happened before 2016? What happened long enough before 2016 that it was worth calling ‘history’? What did he remember that wasn’t about solely about super heros? He ended up jotting down something he vaguely remembered about a different war people from 2056 often compared the mess with the Reach to. He really didn’t know any details other than something about Vietnam and a lot of people dying, but he figured war is war no matter what time it happened in.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to write too much before the bell rang loud and clear. Bart only wished he could have been faster in packing up his backpack and leaving for his next class. He definitely could have been, but he had to keep his super speed under control here and work at the same pace as the other kids around him. Being slow was almost painful. 

The rest of the day when by almost just as horribly. Lectures about things he only barely understood, being expected to just sit in a desk. God did it suck. He didn’t know too many of the other kids here yet either, so he didn’t even get the chance to releave some of the stress through social interaction. By the time his last class rolled around, he was ready to explode. His legs bounced at a speed that was likely too fast for a normal human, but it was just slow enough that he doubted anyone would suspect him of anything. He needed to run. Even if it was just in circles. Bart started tapping the eraser of his pencil against the surface of his desk. As he became more and more frustrated, the tapping got faster and harder until--

“Bart!” The boy looked up to see his Algebra teacher, arms crossed and lips pursed, staring him down. All of his classmates were also turning their head to look at the guy who disrupted class. “Do you absolutely need to be doing that right now?”

“No Miss….” Wait what was her name again? 

“Then stop with that sound and pay attention.”

He ducked his head down into the collar of his shirt. That was embarrassing. He turned his eyes down onto his notebook, hoping that if he didn’t look around the classroom, then his classmates would stop staring at him. It wasn’t that hard to along with the equations being written on the board. The problem stemmed more-so from that fact that he didn’t want to. The clock on the wall said that there were only ten minutes left, but at the same time, there were ten minutes left… Ten… Long… Minutes…

He solved the practice problem faster than he probably should have, especially after looking around and seeing that the rest of his class was still working on it. Not his fault his brain worked just as fast as his legs. So, he spent the rest of class retracing the lines of his division signs and numbers. Erasing and redrawing his equal signs until the lines were perfectly straight and parallel. He wrote out calculations that he had done in his head within the margins of his lined paper. Some more doodles appeared around his work as well. Anything to just pass the time while looking like he was still working. 

When the final bell rang, the young speedster couldn’t have snapped to his feet fast enough. He shoved his notebook into the large pocket of his backpack, which was growing more disorganized by the second. But before he could make like a banana and split out of the classroom, he heard his name getting called.

“Bart Allen.” The teacher Miss… - God he really needed to look up her name - called him over. He didn’t even try to hide the tired frustration in his groan as he walked up to her desk. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble or anything.” The woman when through a pile of papers on her desk until she found what she was looking for. It was a packet of a few papers, stapled together at the corner. She handed them to him. “It’s just some papers for you since you’re new to the school.”

“Ok. Thanks.” Bart took them, flipping through the pages and feigning interest in them. 

“Also, I’m supposed to warn you that the principle is going to call you home, likely tonight.” When the teacher saw the boy’s cocked eyebrow, she continued. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble or anything. He just likes meeting with the families of new students. He’ll probably just ask if your parents can come in a talk about a few things.”

“I don’t live with my parents.” The teen deadpanned.

“Oh... Well, your guardians then.”

“Um. Ok then. Sounds crash I guess.” Bart swung his backpack around to sling on one shoulder as he shoved the packet into it as well. “Can I go now then?”

The teacher just waved him off, and with that, Bart was out the door. He trotted through the halls of the school until, eventually pushing past the masses of random students who were for some reason or another just lingering around. He wanted to just sprint, go full speed and book it out of there. Instead, he held back, waiting until he was outside of the building and around the corner. After making sure that no one else was around to see him, he ran.

Street signs and building blurred as his legs propelled him forward. Man did he need the stretch? Since there wasn’t really a long way home when you could go 2942 times the speed of sound, Bart decided to take some time to expel some much needed energy. He stuck to side roads and alleys, remembering what he was told about being seen using his powers. The boy covered as much ground as possible, while still making it back to the Allen household in fifteen minutes. 

“I’m home!” He ran straight for the kitchen, immediately grabbing some snacks and downing what was likely half a gallon of water.

“Welcome back.” Iris, the only other one home right now, called down from her office space upstairs. Footsteps were audible working their way across creaking floorboards and down the stairs. “How was school today?”

“Oh man I’m totally moded.” The teen slumped onto the couch in the living room. “I don’t understand how everyone does this every single day for their entire lives.”

The woman laughed. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Oh.” The teen sped to his backpack, pulling out the packet given to him by his teacher. “I was told to give this to you and grandpa-Barry. Something about you guys meeting with the principle since I’m a new student.”

“You think they would have done this kind of thing before you started.”

“Can I go hang out with the League today?” Bart had learned very quickly to ask for permission before doing something. Once he ran off to Texas one morning to hang out with Jaime, without telling Grandma-Iris of course, and even though he was back before the sun went down, the wrath unleashed on him was ridiculous. It wasn’t that vicious, yell-y, scream-y wrath that some might think of. It was that “I’m disappointed in you” kind that’s just so much worse.

“As long as you’re back by dinner.” The woman was intently reading the handout that Bart had given her. 

“Crash!” In a whirlwind, he changed into his super suit, his new rendition of Kid Flash, and sprinted out the front door. 

The Watch Tower was definitely the best replacement for a treehouse that a guy could ask for. By the time he phazed up there through one of the many secret passageways located in each town, many of the younger members were starting to gather as well. “Younger”, however, was a bit of a relative term at this point, covering anyone between the ages of six and twenty-five. Yes, that put Bart down at the bottom of the list, but technically, he wouldn’t even be legally born for another twenty-seven years. Besides, Connor was at the very bottom. So he wasn’t dead last. Since a lot of members went to different schools at different grade-levels across the United States, everyone was on a different schedule now. While the Watch Tower had been hang-out central over the summer, now a lot of members only came by once they were finished classes and homework.

Bart hung around, chatting with whoever he came across. In the back of his mind, he was hoping for a mission to go on, although Artemis wasn’t here as Tigress yet, so the likelyhood of him going out on a mission until she arrived was slim unless he was really needed. The curse of being a member of a pair. That’s not to say he only ever worked with her. But sometimes he just felt a little pang of guilt if he didn’t. 

“Now Entering: Designation B-2-2. Blue Beetle.”

The young speedster couldn’t help but perk up when he heard that his buddy had come on board. He sped through the tower to the Zeta-tube entrance. He immediately saw the other guy, dressed in full black and blue. “Yo! How’s it hanging!” He held up a hand, getting a quick high-five from the older teen.

“Crash? I guess.” Smile’s always looked a little odd on the masked face, the white of Jaime’s teeth contrasting so heavily with the deep navy. “You know I’ve been in school all day.”

The thirteen year old groaned. “Geez don’t remind me. Can we all just agree to make the HQ a “school-free” zone or something?”

“You started school?”

It was that simple question that reminded Bart that he hadn’t seen the other in almost a week; had he even told the guy that he was going to school at all? “Yeah. It’s totally against my mode too.”

“Different from what you’re used to?”

“I’m not used to anything.”

“You mean…” There was a slight look of surprise on Blue Beetle’s face, followed by a pause. The boy’s face twisted a bit in thought. “No, I’m not going to ask him that. What’s wrong with you?” Must be the scarab talking again. “Sorry. So you didn’t go to school in your time?”

“You seriously asking if I went to school during the apocalypse?” The brunette scoffed at the idea. “No. We didn’t really have anything like that.”

“Oh.... So, are you liking it so far?”

“Not really.” The younger of the two picked at the yellow spandex of his suite. “I don’t really know anyone yet, so I don’t have friends. And it’s hard to care about what the teachers are saying when I’m stuck sitting in such an uncomfortable desk for so long.”

Beetle looked like he was going to respond, but stopped with his mouth hanging open just a tad. “Would you stop that? That doesn’t matter.” He saw the slight confusion on the new Kid Flash’s face. “Sorry. He’s talking again.”

“You good.” Green eyes somehow fixated on a piece of lint or dirt that was caught in the elbow of his own suite. Bart just couldn’t resist the urge to start picking at it. He tried brushing it off, only to have it smear across the fabric. After a few seconds of scratching at it with his the nail of his thumb, there was no trace of the dirt patch. “Sorry. Got sidetracked there. What were we talking about?”

“School?”

A second loud groan left the younger boy’s mouth. “Can we please talk about something else?”


	2. Bottom Line is.... Meetings Suck

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“Bart.” Barry Allen clamped a hand over his futuristic grandson’s shoulder, halting the boy’s repetitive pattern of lightly slapping his hands against the skin of his knees.

“Sorry.” The young speedster apologized. He quickly dug his hands deep into the pockets of his shorts so that he wouldn't be tempted to do it again. Bart let out a deep breath, letting his body sink into the plastic chair he sat in. Since he couldn't get away with fidgeting right now, he instead started looking around to the room they were in.

It was a small lobby area right outside of the Principle’s office for his school. The room itself was rather boring looking, but with nothing better to do, Bart let his eyes travel between the trophy case in the corner, to the pictures on the walls, to the large school banner that was pinned up in the back. He was almost done counting the number of blue pens on the secretary’s desk, before the door into the principle’s office swung open. An older man held the door open and your dictionary definition of a “troubled youth” walked out, studded leather jacket and all. 

Once the coast was clear, Barry stood up from his chair, prompting Bart to launch to his feet as well. “Mr. Ostey? I’m Barry Allen. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The man held out a hand.

“Ah so Bart is yours then.” Mr. Ostey, the principle, shook his hand, then stepped aside so that the two could walk into his office. 

Bart immediately sat in one of the two chairs opposite a wooden desk, dropping his backpack onto the floor by his feet.“These seats are much more comfortable than the ones in the waiting area.” He said as he massaged the upholstery under the palm of his hand.

Mr. Ostey just smiled at the young boy, before sitting in his desk chair. He pulled a folder from a pile on the corner of his desk. “This is just a quick meeting that I like to do with all transfer students. Just talk about how we feel we’re adapting to the new environment, how the first week went, any concerns one might have. Nothing bad.”

“Definitely reasonable.” Barry nodded. “Isn't it Bart?”

“Hm? What?” Bart was snapped back into reality when he heard his name. He obviously hasn't been staring at label cards on the filing cabinet in the corner. Seriously though, who writes their Q’s like that? “Oh, yeah. Totally crash.” He tried to ignore the quizzical expression that his grandfather was giving him.

“So then,” It was clear that old Mr. Ostey hadn't seen the subtle interaction, as instead he flipped through a few papers on his desk. “I have here that Bart was homeschooled before. That’s quite the transition, to suddenly go to public school, in the eighth grade no less.”

“Bart only recently… Came into the care of my wife and I.” Oh boy, this was going to be fun. What kind of explanation could Barry possibly come up with here? Although the whole ‘homeschooled’ story was definitely some good thinking. “He’s family, so it wasn't a question when we took him into our home. But neither of us have the ability to continue teaching him at home.” Well that definitely avoided any and all details about their private lives. Probably for the best.

“Well, Bart, what do you think? Are you enjoying yourself here?”

Bart tried not to let on to the fact that the only reason he was looking Mr. Ostey in the eye was because he couldn't tear his eyes away from the mole above the man’s left eyebrow. “It’s a little weird. I'm not used to it yet.”

“What part? The people? The teachers?” The principle pushed on. 

“Yes.” Grandpa Barry’s elbow connected with Bart’s shoulder, forcing the teen to actually explain more. It was weird, usually he could stop talking. But right now, all Bart wanted to do was leave the damn room. “I'm not used to being around so many people my age. Most of my friends have always been older than me. Teacher’s are weird, and I don't really like that they keep telling me what to do. Just this morning I got scolded for looking like I wasn't taking notes, but then when I was taking notes, I got confronted again because it looked like I wasn't paying attention.”

“Were you paying attention?” Barry asked. There was a smirk on the man’s face. He knew this kid pretty well after all.

“I can multi task!” The teen fished into his backpack, pulling out a notebook. He flipped all of three pages in to show off that the page was covered in celass notes, and littered with doodles wherever they would fit. To his credit, the notes were very detailed.

“I didn't know you were into color coding.” Barry smiled when he saw the different pen colors all over the page.

“Gr-- er… Iris got me a huge pack of pens, and a couple of those ones that have four different ink colors in them already.” The kid started getting really excited about the different colors he had. Was it childish? Sure. But he’d never had anything like this growing up, and now, floating around somewhere in his backpack, was a bright red pencil case that was stuffed solid with as many pens, pencils, and highlighters as he could fit. “Anyways, I have a bunch, so I might as well use them, right?”

There was a funny smile on both Barry’s and Mr. Ostey’s faces, but neither looked like they were judging the boy. 

“What about friends?” The older man asked. “Have you made any friends among your classmates.”

“I already have friends outside of school.” Bart said matter of factly. “Why would I need to make more?”

The principle chucked. “Well my boy, school is just as much about education as it is about creating a good social life.” When he saw that the young teen didn't exactly believe him, the old man sighed. “Just try to get along with as many of your classmates as you can.”

“Bart’s always been better with people who are older than him.” Barry explained. “Most of his friends are High School or above.” Good to see that no one is mentioning that a lot of his friends aren't even human. “Having friends more your age will never be a bad thing. Besides, I already know you're a social butterfly at heart.”

“Now then,” Principal Ostey cleared his throat. “I do have one thing I’d like to talk about. A… Concern, of sorts that has been brought to my attention.”

That did not sound good. Bart hadn't thought he did anything wrong, but suddenly he felt like he was being accused of murder. The boy slunk back into his chair, his eyes cast down at his fingers as he picked at the skin underneath the nails. He felt his toes crinkling in his shoes, playing with the holes that had formed in his socks. He started imagining the shape of each one based on how they felt alone.

“Don't worry Bart Allen, you’re not in any kind of trouble.” It wasn't hard for Mr. Ostey to sense the teens unease. “It’s just that several of your teachers have noticed, and reported, that you have a tendency to get distracted. Sometimes it’s very clear you aren't paying attention. One of your teachers, who will remain anonymous, their name isn't important, said that within one class people, he sees you go through periods of being completely restless, to practically lifeless. Many are worried about you distracting other classmates as well.”

Yup. Bart was really feeling the mode.

“I can't say I'm surprised.” There was an odd expression on Barry’s face as he rubbed the back of his neck. It was hard to say what the man was feeling, but his brows were knit together, mouth slanted as if he wasn't sure whether he wanted to smile or frown. “That kind of thing isn’t uncommon in us. In our family I mean.”

“Do you have a history of learning disabilities in your family too?” Mr. Ostey asked.

“Wait, what?”

“Oh it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Many kids these days have ADD and ADHD. Especially the boys in my experience.” The old principle started going off about classroom behaviors and how education has changed because of it. Frankly, Bart couldn't quite keep up. Information was going in one ear and out the other. “If you go and get a diagnosis, we can make accommodations for Bart in the future.”

“I, uh… I think that’s something my wife and I need to talk about.” Whatever was happening, was it even out of grandpa Barry’s comfort zone? That was weird.

“Right. Of course.” Mr. Ostey smiled before closing the folder in front of him. “Right. Of course. Do you mind if we keep in touch about it? I’d rather not let a problem fester and grow.”

Ooooh there was Barry’s “I don't like you anymore” face. It wasn't quite as intimidating without his red mask for the added punch, but it did the job. “Right. Well, Bart and I have to get going anyways. Come on kid. Let’s go for a run.”

The entire demeanor of the boy did a complete one-eighty. He went from slunking in his chair to completely perked up, like a puppy getting excited to go on a walk. He shot up from his chair and swung his backpack over his shoulder at a speed just barely below superhuman. “Yes! Come on! Let's crash this mode.”

“You got it sport.”

The pair said their goodbyes to the principle, before leaving his office, and heading out of the school all together. It was a Friday afternoon, so most students had sprinted out of there as soon as they could. A few looked like they were lingering not around for some reason or another, although it was had to say why.

“So can we actually go for run because after sitting still for so long today I really need a good run. Ooooh! What if we went cross country? Come on’ we could go to LA and back in no time at all.”

Bart only stopped talking when he heard his grandfather laughing. “How about we go home, check in with the misses, go for a quick run around the cities parameter, then head up to the Watch Tower?” 

The suggestion still sent a sparkle into the thirteen year old's eyes. “Awesome! Race ya!” With that, the young speedster took off, running his usual way home. It didn't even take half a second for the figure of Barry Allen to pass him, going just far enough ahead to prove a point, before slowing down to stay in time with his newest trainee. Yup. Running was so much better than sitting. Bart just let the meeting with his school principal drain from his memory with every step he took, until the only thing on his mind was the wind on his face.


	3. Gym Class

After spending the first “thirteen” years of his life in a virtual-reality unit, then a post-apocalyptic future, where personal hygiene was the last thing on anyone’s mind, followed by seven months fighting alongside several Justice League members who seemed to sweat waterfalls, Bart thought he was used to just about every body odor there was. He was terribly mistaken. The stench of a middle school locker room, for boys no less, was down right putrid. On top of the pre-existing condition that is being an adolescent boy, and all the stank that came with forcing near fifty into the same window-less space, were the results of copious amounts of farting contests, and a seemingly permanent cloudy haze that was created when some genius decided empty out an entire canister of Axe body spray.

Bart seemed to be one of the few who actually washed his gym clothes over the weekend. The teen stood in front of his locker, taking care to keep his extra uniform neatly folded within the metal box, before stripping out of his jeans and tank top to change. Personally, he wasn’t a fan of the gray t shirt that had his schools name and mascot scrawled across the chest in forest green letters. It really just wasn’t his color combo. The first week of school he had tried to wear a plain white shirt and a pair of red running shorts Wally had given him, but for some illogical reason, him not wearing the same clothes as everyone else for one class period was a problem.

A couple other guys in Bart’s row of lockers were chatting about this and that. It was mostly stuff Bart couldn’t even bring himself to care about. What was a Pokémon anyways? And why did it matter that they “go” anywhere? Rather than bothering to decipher these retro pop-culture references, what was reeling through his brain was the endless mantra of ‘Don’truntoofastdon’truntoofastdon’truntoofastdo--’

He had heard plenty about what gym class would entail over the course of the year; A lot of sport-ing. Day one of gym the teacher listed off a few; soccer, basketball, whatever the heck street hockey was, and the like. A lot of these involved running, and while Bart definitely loved running, as seen by the everything about him, plenty of people had railed into him that he had to keep his feet in check. That retro ‘secret identity’ thing again.

The teenaged hero tied up his shoelaces before heading out to the gymnasium. A couple of his classmates were already out there. A few girls sat in a circle on the floor. Some guys stoon on the opposite side of the room. They seemed to be cracking jokes. Bart decided to head over to that group, although he clung to the outside of the cluster.

“At least it’s Friday.” One of the kids said. “I’m gonna play video games all day tomorrow.”

“Oh damn, didn’t you get a new PlayStation?”

“Yeah I got the PS One and the Final Fantasy reboot for my birthday.”

Bart had no idea what any of those words meant. Sure, he new what video games were, but he couldn’t tell the difference between of or the other in this era. Apparently one of them was a box with a giant X on it, and that’s about as far as his knowledge of these old-timey consoles went. So he opted out of the conversation, instead counting the number of blue mats on the walls.

What was the point of those anyways? Actually though. What is the purpose of a bunch of one-inch thick foam-filled mats glued to cinder block? Who was that going to protect? Realistically speaking, they were for if someone slammed into the wall. But, strictly statistically of course, what were the chances of that actually happening? If someone was running around the gymnasium, and wasn’t paying attention to where they were going, and thusly smacked into the wall, the chances of them hitting the actual wall was much higher than their chances of hitting one of forty-seven blue mats. Ew. Odd number. Gross. It would have been so easy to just add one more mat in. This kinds of things probably only shipped in even number sets anyways. What they should have done was ordered fifty, just to round the numbers up of course. I wonder where you get mats like that. Can you order them on Amazon? How would an order that big even get shipped in the first place. They would probably be in wooden crates. But that’s a waste of wood. They’re mats so their soft, so you could probably ship them in cardboard boxes without much risk of the box breaking. Those would be some big boxes. A cat would have a field day. You could catch a really big cat with a box that big.

“Hey Bart! It’s time to circle up.” One of the guys in his class interrupted Bart’s train of thought.

Bart looked at the kid. Some generic guy with brown hair and glasses. It occured to the young speedster very quickly that he had no idea what this dude’s name was. “Hey. Do you think Batman would be able to catch Catwoman if he just left a bunch of large cardboard boxes out?”

The guy looked completely baffled by the question. “Um.. No idea… Uh. Come on we have to circle up.”

Sure enough, the teacher had showed up at some point, and everyone was starting to gather around on the floor by the teacher’s feet. So, Bart went over a joined the rest of the herd. He sat down next to this glasses-boy.

“Well Bart now that you’re here we can start attendance.” The gym teacher checked off his name from a list. The curse and blessing of an A-letter last name.

The instructor continued down the list, naming off classmates one by one. Apparently the kid with glasses was named Reggie, the boy with the new video game thingy was either Brian or Ryan, and he still couldn’t figure out who had the misfortune of being named Magenta. Did her parents know she shared a name with a villain? Or was Magenta reformed by now? He couldn’t remember the time line.

Once they had gotten through all thirty-six names on the list, with an unfortunate seven people absent - Bart was pretty sure there should be only five missing, because he definitely saw one of the absentees on the bus that morning, and could have sworn he counted thirty kids when he sat down - the gym teacher began talking about their agenda for the day. Apparently the sport on today’s agenda was basketball.

Now, there are few things you need to know about a semi-apocalyptic future. First of all, you live and die by scavenger rights. Second, if it looks like it might glow a bit, best not put it in your body. But the third thing was that “sport ball” was not exactly common. Especially not games like basketball. So it was fair to say that Bart had absolutely no clue how to play.

Since today was their first day on the unit, the gym instructor just wheeled out a larger bin of balls and basically told the whole class to have at it. Those who knew how to play, or at least believed that they knew, went off of one side of the gym to get a game together. Those who either didn’t know, or just didn’t feel like committing to a game, stayed to go over the basics.

Bart got passed a ball and just stood there. He looked at the orange sphere and twisted his nose. He had no idea what he was supposed to be doing, but he really didn’t want to do it.

“Did you ever play where you’re from?” That kid again… Re….Reese? Reuben? Remy?.... Ah screw it.

“What’s was that dude?” Bart flashed a smile at the guy.

“Basketball. Did you play before you moved here?” The guy held out his hands in front of his chest. After a second or two of processing, Bart tossed the ball over.

“Nah. I’ve actually never played before.” Bart watched as the other kid….. It wasn’t Reilley was it?

“Seriously?” R-what’s-his-face looked in almost disbelief. He fixed his glasses before beginning to dribble the ball. Chances were that Bart was paying a little too close attention to how the ball bounced. The sound of the ball springing off the wood floor was certainly interesting. “What kind of games did you play? Soccer? Tennis?”

Bart just shrugged. “I never really did team sports.”

“Any other kind of sport?” Seriously. Bart needed to get better at names. This was getting embarrassing.

“I like running.” Probably safe to mention that. “If you count that as a sport.”

“Like track and field, or do you run cross-country?” When was it no longer socially acceptable to ask for someone's name?

“Yeah I’ve run across the country before.”

“I’m not really much of a sports person myself.” The kid passed the ball back to Bart. As societal expectations have it, Bart mimicked what his classmates were doing and dribbled the ball. It wasn’t hard. Then again, Bart was a quick learner. “So, are you not much of a talker or something? You don’t seem to talk to too many people in class.”

Oh boy. Not much of a talker? Well that was the exact opposite of everything he had ever heard before. He couldn’t help himself. The teen speedster started cracking up. “No actually most of the time people can’t get me to shut the hell up. I just feel super moded here.”

“That makes sense. You probably just need to make friends though.” The other guy held his hands out again, and like before, Bart passed the ball back.

“I’ve got plenty of friends. Just none of them go here.”

“Where are they?”

“My best friend lives in Texas.”

“Oh crap.” Reggie! That’s what this kid’s name was. Right. Ok. You can’t forget that. “That’s far. You stay in touch?”

“Yeah I saw him last weekend.”

Apparently this came as a shock to Reggie. Was that abnormal? Bart tried to picture a US map in his head again. He could remember where El Paso was for the most part, but for some reason he couldn’t picture Central City for the life of him. Oh well. Not important.

They continued to pass the ball back and forth for a while, mostly just spending the time chatting. From this little chit and chatter, Bart learned some important things about his classmate. The primary thing was that his name was, in fact, Reggie. Was it short for something? Probably. But right now he didn’t care what for. All that mattered was that he was able to remember those six letters, preferably in that order. Also, Reggie was apparently classified as a “nerd”. The guy was more academically inclined than anything, however, unlike in the many teen-life films Bart had seen to try and get an idea for what to expect from “modern” highschool, Reggie was a great conversationalist. The glasses-wearing guy seemed like he was better at social cues than Bart himself. But by far the most important thing that Bart had learned about Reggie, was that the kid was a genius pun maker. Not once, not twice, but thrice this kid had let perfect double entendres slip out. Bart’s personal favorite was “may all your swishes come true.”

By the end of the gym period Bart felt like he knew absolutely nothing about basketball. So he was really no better off on the subject than when he started. He headed back towards the locker room, and like any good teenager, checked his phone right away. He didn’t have any messages, but that was fine. Bart quickly clicked on his text app, which automatically brought up a conversation under the contact “Hermano”. No explanation needed for who that convo was with. The speedsters most frequent abuse of his power during the day was typing out a quick message out and sending it.

_“Update: My school’s trying to get me to learn how to play basketball. Seems stupid. Me and this guy in my class just talked the whole time and pretended we were doing stuff.”_

By the time Bart was fully dressed back in his jeans and a t shirt and flannel, his phone was buzzing again.

_Hermano_   
_“Basketballs shit ese. I’ll teach u soccer next time ur down.”_

Well that sounded promising enough. Now this week just needed to end. The world moved way too slowly for this speedster.


	4. Dragging On

It wasn’t his fault. Definitely not. It couldn’t possibly be his fault. Glass items just have that weird inexplicable habit of just… spontaneously shattering. Obviously… It was definitely a random event, and obviously not because seven point forty-two seconds ago Bart Allen had blitzed back home, because he forgot his math textbook, bolted around the corner by the stairwell, and accidentally knocked his left ulna into the lip of Iris West’s turquoise urn. Now it was quite possible that this wasn't an urn, but was in fact a vase, but that piece of information wasn't important. Unfortunately, the speedster hadn’t even noticed the item toppling over, otherwise he would have been able to catch it in time.

Nope. This time he had to scramble to pick up the shards, making sure to run over that stretch of hardwood with his hands as many times as he could before determining that there wasn’t a single speck of broken glass left.

Bart looked down as the cardboard box he had gathered the pieces into, then to the table the urn had been knocked off of, then back to the box… Then back to the table… Then back to the box…. “Oh boy…. Yeah I’m dead meat. Oh man this is gonna be totally moded.”

Under normal circumstances he would have stuck around to figure out what to do, but he had to get back to class. His hall pass was only good for another four minutes, and it would take three to get back to school. In a moment of panic, Bart ran to his room, got a pen and paper, and scribbled out a massive “I'm so so so so so sorry” on it, before leaving both the box and note on the kitchen table. He barely remembered to grab his math textbook before scurrying out of the house, and back to class.

Bart snuck back into the school building through one of the side doors. He dug through his pockets to find the laminated card his teacher had given him. Thank his lucky stars he didn’t lose it. He’ll never understand why he needed permission to use the bathroom. Some of the teachers would say things like “oh well you should have gone in between classes.” Um… _Excuse me?_ ‘In between classes’ was seventeen minutes ago, and seventeen minutes ago Bart didn’t need to go to the bathroom. The next ‘in between classes’ wasn’t for another twenty eight minutes. Now they might not know this, but twenty eight minutes for a speedster was practically an eternity. You try holding your blaster for an eternity, and learn how to solve for X at the same time. Not so easy now, is it?

He walked in a circle around the interior of the school building, walking up two floors on one stair case, then walking down into the basement of the building on another. He went into two different bathrooms, actually using the bathroom in one, then washing his hands in the other, but the second bathroom was out of paper towels, so he had to go back to the first one. By the time he made it to the first bathroom, he had already dried his hands out on his pants. The teen stopped by his locker, just in case there was something in it that he needed. He put his math textbook down on top of his lunch box, decided there was nothing in his locker that he needed, so he closed and locked the storage area. Bart was about to walk away, and actually head to class, when he realized he just shut the metal door with his book still in it. Right. Great thinking there Allen. It only took another moment of oh so carefully turning the dial on the padlock, making sure the little tick marks lined up absolutely perfectly, so he could once again retrieve his textbook. Only then did he actually head back to class.

The second he got back to his desk, sat down and stared at the half empty page of doodles in his notebook, Bart looked up at the clock above the whiteboard. It was four minutes and six seconds slow. He knew that. But man, did retro clocks suck. Everything in the future was digital. It didn’t take long to learn how to read one of these round clocks with the long stick thingies -- Bart absolutely refused to call them “hands”. There was not a single thing about them that resembled hands. Arms? Maybe. He could see that. But no human being had three arms. Some have one, and he’s definitely fought a bad guy with four before, but that dude definitely wasn’t actually human. What even was that guy? Some kind of alien maybe? Wait… Where was he? …. Right, right. Clocks -- Bart had learned how to read analog clocks, but he didn’t really “read” them, so much as memorized what position each of the sticks was pointed in at the start and end of class; when algebra started the long bar pointed to the three, and the short one pointed to the nine. Sometimes he would sit and count out each of the little tick marks that outlined the clock to figure out the exact time it was. But he only did that about three times per class. But if he really needed to know the time, Bart would just peak at the clock on his phone. Much more efficient.

From the time the teacher signed his hall pass, to the exact second he sat down at his seat, six minutes had passed.

The speedster groaned internally. This was already such a bad morning. It wasn’t even lunch time and he was so ready to be done with this entire week. The end of his mechanical pencil ended up in his mouth, and he chewed lightly at the eraser. Uncle Barry had stopped buying wood pencils after a week of class when each one would come home marred with teeth marks all up and down the stick.

Bart barely processed what the teacher was saying, but heard someone in the class mention a page number, and quicky thumbed through his textbook to find it. He compared the graph on it to the one of the board and figured it was probably the right place. Smiley faces suddenly appeared on the page, within the confines of the triangle. The two-dimensional shape soon had arms and legs, angry eyebrows, and a very thin top hat. The “X” label on one of the sides became a bowtie. For some reason, this was a very dapper triangle. Probably made it’s mother proud.

There were a few practice problems underneath Sir Angle of Tri, all asking about either solving for bowtie, or using bowtie to solve for other angles and sides of the model. It was easy math. There wasn’t enough room in the margins of the textbook to solve them, so Bart ended up actually using his math notebook to scribble answers down for each question. This probably wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing, but it was more productive than staring out a window and imagining himself super gluing the pieces of Aunt Iris’ vase back together.

Class continued to drone on for an unfortunate twenty minutes before the bell sounded through the school’s intercom network, and Bart felt all the tension leave his body. Only five more classes to go. He could do this.

The hallway of the school was sardine packed as herds of teenagers tried to push their way through to their next classes. The absolute worst part was the stairwells. Because of the sheer number of kids trying to get into and out of the small enclosure, you could barely move more than one step at a time. So, Bart took out his cellphone. He thumbed through his lack of notifications, which meant two things: first, Iris hadn’t gone home to see the mess he left yet, and B, there were no sudden crime-related emergencies that needed the support of an underaged speedster to knock out. A real shame really.

The boy didn’t have any kind of social media presence, didn’t really see the point, so rather than trying to figure out what was happening on the interwebs, Bart tapped open his messenger application. Of course, Jaime’s contact was the at the very top.

“ _Hermano. I know you’re in class, or at least you should be, but do you know what would be totally crash???”_

_“You should totally come to Central City.”_

_“And just”_

_“You know.”_

_“Blow something up.”_

_“Just so I can get out of school early.”_

_“Then we can hang or something.”_

_“Come on Blue.”_

_“Help me out.”_

_“I’m dying over here.”_

Was he being obnoxious? Oh most definitely. But did it work? Hell yeah it did.

_Hermano_   
_“Dios mio ese. I can’t just go cause trouble so you can play hookie.”_

Bleh. Rude.

Bart held his phone tight to his chest as he forced his way out of the stairwell. The hallway he exited on wasn’t all that much better as far as crowd control went, but there was at least some amount of breathing room between him and the person in front of him.

_“But this is your chance to be my knight in shining blue and black armor.”_

_Hermano_   
_“No can-do. I’ve got a test in AP Gov today.”_

Somehow Bart made it into his next class, freshman biology, in one piece. Rather than desks, the room was set up with lab benches that had solid black tops and wooden stools. He sat next to Reggie here, which was cool because sometimes they would whisper to each other while Mr. K went through his slideshow.

_“Fiiiiiiiiiiine. Good luck on that test. You’ll ace it.”_

_Hermano_   
_“Gracias. Hang out tonight maybe?”_

_“Heck yeah! I’ll meet you in El Paso.”_

_Hermano_   
_“Yeah sure. Just text me before you come by.”_

Bart blasted a series of thumbs-up emojis before the class bell rang once more, then stuffed his phone back into his pocket. Then he slammed his notebook for this class down on the table, and was absolutely delighted to pull his set of different colored pens. He lined them up on his desk in rainbow order, with the pen caps all facing the same direction.

“Ready to learn about Darwinism?” Reggie tapped at Bart’s shoulder.

“Isn’t that the award thing for when people get killed for doing stupid stuff?” He remembered Gar bringing some book to show to the whole team that was filled with stories of people who did some genuinely idiotic things that got them killed. Bart’s personal favorites were all the ones that started with “hold my beer” or “stand back and watch this”.

“Haha. Sort of.” The teenaged boys lowered their voices as the teacher started up his Power Point. “It’s just survival of the fittest.”

“Hm.” A picture of some old, bald guy with an extremely long beard showered up on the projected slideshow. “That guy looks like he need to relocate his chin hair to his head.”

Survival of the fittest, huh? That definitely gave Bart a few ideas. He snuck his phone out of his pocket once more -- he will neither confirm nor deny using his powers to avoid getting caught -- …….. -- ok he totally used his powers to avoid getting caught -- to send a quick text.

_“Hey Blue. Who would win in a fight? A giraffe with a sword for a neck, or a kangaroo with guns for hands?”_


End file.
